The search for a fast ship

Hudson's lieutenant quickly signed off on leave papers for him, asking if he needed more than just 3 days. Hudson shook his head and replied that he didn't want to stay away too long, as the platoon might not survive without him.

The lieutenant looked a little crestfallen that Hudson was only taking a few days. He did, however, manage a smile while watching Hudson walk out the door.

With that little bit of business out of the way, we went to the spaceport to find a fast ship.

"Well there it is, Mos Spacely," said Hudson. "You'll not find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy."

I had no problems up until now, but once we got here I could feel another attack coming on. I think my brain was starting to comprehend the intrusion and had begun to fight it. Despite this, these attacks were still getting the best of me.

"Aw, but I wanna go to Toshi Station to pick up some power converters," I whined. I didn't want to whine. I didn't even want power converters.

"Now Jon," Hudson placed his hand on my shoulder patriarchally. "You can goof around with your friends later."

Is patriarchally even a word?

So we make our way through the spaceport and into the Mos Spacely Cantina. Colorful characters, bizarre aliens, and gruff space crews filled the bar. A band played a catchy tune in the corner and a brusque bartender was filling orders. Hudson leaned on the bar to ask him about pilots.

Meanwhile, I felt years fly past me. Wizened by the mental attack, I understood with even more clarity the importance of our mission. Standing back, I also saw two of the bar patrons heading towards Hudson -- trouble was most definitely their intent.

One of the pair grabbed Hudson by the shoulder and howled. The second told him "My friend here smells a Colonial Marine. My friend here doesn't like you."

"Uh, OK," responded Hudson.

"I don't like you either!" the man glared. This whole exchange seemed eirily familiar.

"I'll be careful," I thought I heard Hudson reply. I have to give him credit, he's trying real hard to keep a low profile.

"You'll be dead!" the man warned.

"He's not worth your trouble," I tried to soothe the situation using my many years of experience. "Let me buy you a drink, ya dang whippersnappers. Ugh, I can't believe I said 'whippersnapper.'"

Several things happened almost simultaneously: The two miscreants drew their weapons, patrons screamed and dove for cover, the bartender screamed "No blasters! No blasters!" and dove for cover, Hudson screamed and dove for cover, the band stopped playing, and I shot the two with a stun blast.

The music resumed and the people in the bar went back to their activities. I grabbed a sweaty Hudson by the shoulder and hauled him over to a table. That's where we saw a familiar face; at least it was familiar to me.

"Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator, what brings you here?"

"Jan the Intergalactic Aviator," I shook her hand. "I've come to hire you. We need a ship."

"The Pegasus Elite is always available for someone like you, Jon," she smiled. "Who's your friend?"

"Hudson, Jan, Jan, Hudson," I introduced them.

"Hey fly girl," Hudson leered. "What's a Pegasus Elite?"

"You've never heard of the Pegasus Elite?" Jan looked taken aback by Hudson’s comment.

"Should I have?" I don't know where Hudson was going with this.

"Hudson, it's her ship, you idjit," I smacked him on the back of the head. "We need you to fly us to Sector 7G."

"Sector 7G, one of the most perilous spans of space in the entire galaxy?" she looked surprised.

"That's the one," I replied. "Thank you for reminding everyone about the dangers of that area."

"No problem," she replied. "I'm at dock 19. I need to go prep my ship, so meet me there in 20 minutes."

"You got it, baby," Hudson smiled and waggled his eyebrows. I smacked him on the back of the head again.

Hudson and I exited the cantina. Jan attempted to leave, but someone was blocking her way, and that someone had a gun!